I shouldn't have been there. But I was. And I had only myself to blame. I should never have brought those cigarettes to school - let alone smoke them. And then, when questioned by the headmaster, I had panicked, and lied about it! How could I have been so stupid! At least Jeremy, my best friend, had been honest about his involvement.
So here I was, in the breezy, open hallway, outside the head's office, on the other side of the school from my dormitory where I should have been joining my friends in trying to fall asleep half an hour after lights out. As is the procedure when told to order for hidings after lights out, Jeremy and I had had to strip totally naked in the dorm and walk halfway across the school completely starkers. It's bad enough for the juniors, but Jeremy and I were in grade seven, and nearly thirteen. I didn't have any pubes yet, but I was really aware of my developing body, especially just standing here under the lights in the wide hall, waiting alone while Jeremy was dealt with.
They were taking ages in the study. All I could hear was sir's deep voice rumbling as he lectured Jeremy - my friend must have been answering, but his voice was too quiet for me to hear.
Glancing to my left, I caught my reflection in the mirror mounted next to the visitors' chairs in the hall. I realized how vulnerable I looked, standing there without a stitch of clothing on. My body was slender and well tanned - muscled from my swimming and cross country training. But my bottom almost glowed in the subdued lighting - it looked so tender. It wasn't a very big bottom – my sporting meant that it was fairly slim, nicely balanced by my muscled, slender thighs. I wondered what it would look like when I left the study later. My face was the picture of misery - pale even under my sandy colored regulation hair cut.
Suddenly, my thought were interrupted by the beginning of Jeremy's hiding. The loud crack of the cane across his twelve year old bare bottom made my heart stop. Jeremy had a real rounded, chubby behind, and I had seen how it wobbled slightly when he was belted. Briefly, I wondered what it looked like when it was caned. After a long pause, the cane snapped again across my friend's flesh, and this time, during the pause, I heard sir's rumbling voice again. After the third lash, I could hear Jeremy's voice answering sir (I could pick up from the tone of my friend's voice that he was in a lot of pain. Jeremy was very quiet spoken usually, and he was almost sobbing out his responses to whatever sir was asking). The sound of the cane whipping into boy flesh continued, and after the fifth – which was the most that either of us had ever had – Jeremy was sobbing almost continuously. Absently, I gently grasped my own slender bottom cheeks, noting their coolness and smoothness. I had actually managed to avoid the cane for several months, but I sensed that the hiding that I had coming would more than make up for it!
Jeremy got his sixth lash, and I knew that my turn would be now. Clearly, sir was handing out six of the best for our little crimes. Once again, I hoped that he would forget about my lying to him. Six of the best was bad enough! I was totally unprepared for the gunshot like sound of the cane striking Jeremy echoed from the office again, and Jeremy howled. Seven! My God! That was worse than I had expected!
There was a long pause, then the sir opened the door. Jeremy, head down, tears dripping slowly was ushered out. When we had arrived, we had, as any boys our age would, been holding our hands before our naked genitals, protecting our hairless modesty (as I was now, as soon as the door had opened). But Jeremy didn't seem to care anymore. Both his hands were gripping his bottom, as if trying to prevent it from falling off. His balls had climbed right up, and his little _c_o_c_k_ had shrunk as if he had swum in freezing water. His distress was obvious as he limped past me, unable to meet my eyes, his legs still slightly apart - it must have been too sore to even walk comfortably. This was going to be one hell of a hiding. I turned my head to watch my friend as he made his way down the hall. Although his hands were holding his bottom, I could still see the evidence of his thrashing. The lower half of his pale, chubby backside was a mess of multicolored welts, dominated by deep scarlet. Yes, it had indeed been a bad hiding.
My attention was drawn away from Jeremy by the voice of the headmaster standing at the door, still fully dressed in his jacket and tie. He didn't even look flustered after obviously giving Jeremy such a severe hiding.
"Come on, David. Your turn, young man!"
Hands still protecting my modesty, I hesitantly stepped past the big man into the study, noting the sound of the door closing behind me. Not knowing what to do, I went and stood, head down, in front of the desk, and waited. Although sir's desk was empty apart from his blotter, crossing it was the cane. The terrible weapon glowed a dull yellow in the light - it was long and rather thin. A typical junior cane - the type that has been felt by little preteen boys on their bottoms for generations.
Sir came around me and sat behind his desk, making a steeple with his fingers as he looked at me. I dropped my head and tried to hold back the tears that were threatening to burst from my eyes.
"Put your hands on your head," Sir commanded, and reluctantly I obeyed. Now I really did feel humiliated. Twelve years old, stark naked and not even allowed the modesty of my own hands. I stood there, the picture of misery. Sir began the lecture, but I hardly heard him. I was too focused on my nudity before him, and every now and again I would catch sight of that cane lying on the desk, and my buttocks would clench - a cold feeling would enter in my stomach.
"Well, young man," Sir finally concluded, "you're no stranger to hidings in this office. You know what to do. Bend over."
He was right. I had been caned by him many times in my six years at the school. On one memorable occasion I had even had to drop my shorts and underpants for five hard cuts. But I knew that this would be by far the worst thrashing that I had ever had.
I walked slowly to the center of the room where Jeremy had already placed the old leather armchair that we boys called the "hiding chair". I kept my hands on my head for the short walk - I had never had to report naked for a hiding before, and wisely chose not to anger Sir further. I did, however, know how I was expected to bend over.
Legs well apart, I dropped my hands, then lowered my body over the wide back of the chair. Jeremy's sweaty palm prints were still vague depression in the leather of the seat, but I was slightly taller than Jeremy, so I was able to stretch my hands slightly further than he had been. Familiar with the procedure, I kept my legs as straight as I could, raised up my bottom, and dropped my head between my arms. I was unable to see the headmaster, but I heard the scrape of his chair as he stood up, and the faint rattle of the cane as he lifted it off the table. I could feel my legs trembling, and the tears were ready - I knew from first hand experience how hard this man could cane, and I had no doubt that my bare, tender feeling backside would soon be in for a thrashing the likes of which I had never had before.
I didn't hear Sir coming up behind me, but I knew when he arrived, as he drew the tip of the cane lightly across my tightly bent tail. It took all of my will power not to move, I was so nervous. Sir was in no hurry, and to me it felt as if he stroked my bum with that cane for ages while he got his aim right. Then the sensation of the caressing cane disappeared, and my hiding commenced.
The first stroke was blasted across my backside, with all of Sir's considerable skill. I felt the fire light up across my cheeks, right the way across my backside, and exactly half way down. It was agony. I yelped despite my resolve to keep quiet during my hiding, and my body jerked automatically. I think that for a boy bending over for the cane on his bare bottom, the first stroke is one of the worst. At least then you know how terrible the pain will be - the suspense has ended. Of course, that didn't make the second any easier to bear, but at least I had a good idea of how sore it would be. Sir really took his time, lecturing me as he had Jeremy,
"Well, David, I hope you're learning that smoking is bad for your health!" a comedian even when he was turning my poor bare bottom into a burning stretch of flesh.
Again the cane cracked down, making the count now three. Only half way through a traditional six of the best, and my backside felt as if it was being skinned!
"Can you think of any good reason that I should go easy on you, my boy?" sir's voice was calm, he hadn't even started to breathe hard from his efforts. But the man was a real master. I don't think he was even really using his power – he knew just how to whip a pre-teen boy's bottom, causing excruciating pain, while not actually doing any real long lasting damage.
"No sir," I sobbed. As if any reason I had given him would have made a difference to the severity of my hiding.
"Good," he responded, and lashed the cane across my tail again, good and low as usual, where a boy's bottom is most sensitive.
I had given up trying to be brave. I could hear my own sobs in the still room, and my tears where dripping down my nose onto the leather of the chair. All I wanted to do was too leap up and grasp my poor bottom, but I didn't dare. Even although sir was carefully lining each stroke up, so that none crossed, my backside felt as if there was just one swathe of fire burning across it. The fifth ripped into my tender flesh, extending the surface area of my agony slightly more. Impossibly, each successive stroke seemed to make the pain of my punishment worse. Just when I thought that I could bear no more agony, the cane was able to increase my misery.
"What is the lesson that you are learning here David?" sir's voice was still clear and calm. I wished that I could withstand the terrible agony of the hiding and reply as calmly. But of course I could not.
"Not to smoke, sir," I sobbed.
"And is the lesson getting through to you? Since your ears don't seem to relay things very well to your brain, maybe your bottom is a better receptor?"
"Oh yes sir," I wailed. I wished he would just get on with it – he had taken to gently stroking my now burning little bottom with the cane again, "it's very sore sir, I won't do it again!"
The sixth stroke whistled through the air, and bit into my bottom, increasing my agony enormously. I knew that Jeremy had had seven, so I squeezed my eyes tightly shut, and gripped the leather of the seat of the chair with all of my might.
The wait for the seventh lash seemed to take hours. I'm sure that sir was deliberately making me wait to increase my tension. But when the stick whipped into my poor backside again, it was a corker! Agony! But I am proud to say that I managed to keep down.
Sir left me bending, and I heard him drop the cane back onto the table, and sit heavily down on his chair. We stayed like that in the office for several minutes – he must have been admiring his handiwork across my twelve year old bottom. For my part, I was battling to bring my crying under control. Maybe that was what he was waiting for too.
"Stand up and give your backside a good rub, David," he eventually sighed.
I didn't need a second invitation. Surprisingly, I maintained my dignity, not leaping up, but rather getting up slowly. I reached behind me with both hands, momentarily remembering how smooth and cool my bottom had felt to my touch outside the office. Now it was hot, and ridged with painful welts. I carefully massaged the tender flesh, eyes closed, still with my back to the headmaster.
"Turn around and come back over here, boy," sir commanded, "and put your hands back on your head."
Slowly, I obeyed, turning to face sir and crossing the room back to stand in front of his desk. Hesitantly, I let go of my throbbing cheeks, and placed my hands back onto my head. My bottom still blazed, and I knew that I would have to do a lot more rubbing to get rid of even a fraction of the sting. But sir had other ideas, and I had to stand before him once again, exposed, crying, and wishing to be released back to the dorm.
"Now for the issue of lying, David," so sir hadn't forgotten.
"I'm sorry, sir!" I sobbed, a fresh burst of tears arriving as I realized that my punishment was certainly not over.
"I'm sure you are, my boy," he continued, "but it is not something that I take lightly, and I must punish you for it,"
"Oh please sir," I begged, "I've had enough – my bottom's so sore! Please give me a chance!"
"I'm sure that your bottom's sore, and I'm glad. That's the idea of giving you a hiding, to make your bottom very sore indeed. But I'm afraid that I'm going to have to make it a bit more painful for you."
"Oh sir," I sobbed, knowing now that any appeals would simply be a waste of breathe. When sir decided to cane a boy, there was nothing that could be done to change his mind.
"Return to the chair and bend over, David."
I obeyed, and soon was once again bent over in the terrible, submissive position, bottom up, ready for the next thrashing. My behind felt so tender, now that it already had seven deep, throbbing welts across it. For the second time that evening I heard sir get up and then felt the smooth coolness of the cane as it was lined up across my poor bare bottom. I had no idea how many more lashes I would be getting, and I didn't dare to ask.
The first one cracked down, and I know that I howled. Any resistance or attempts at bravery had long been forgotten. I was half aware that I must have sounded like a fourth grader getting his first caning, not a big seventh grade boy. But I had never had such a session, and my bottom was reaching the ends of its pain endurance. Sir even had to place a big, cool hand on the small of my back, giving me a silent signal to stop my squirming.
After forever, the cane struck again, and I battled to keep still, venting my pain through my wailing. Sir caned me again, and I felt certain that he caned across some of the other welts, although later inspection of my punished bottom showed that the man had placed every single stripe across a new section of my backside – you could actually count down my tail the evenly placed lashes. I was caned again, but this time my cries were not so loud. My throat was sore from my shouting, and there was really not much else I could say to express my agony.
"Get up David," I was surprised. I had expected at least another six.
"I think that you've had enough. Go back to your dorm." Just like that. No more lectures. The end of the hiding.
"Thank you sir for my hiding, sir!" I sobbed, but didn't waste any time. I was out of the door like a shot, before sir changed his mind.
The walk back to the dorm seemed to take forever. My bottom throbbed like crazy, and even although I clutched at my cheeks with both hands, every step that I took seemed to jar my tender cheeks. Surprisingly, when I entered the dorm, the lights were on, and all the boys were sitting up in their beds. It took me a couple of moments to take in the scene, but when I did, my heart sank.
Standing in the middle of the room was our dorm master. At our school, every dorm of ten boys has a junior master in charge of it. Our master was a young guy, in his early twenties by the name of Mr Handley. He was a top club rugby player, and a fierce disciplinarian. He believed that as the seniors in our primary school, the grade sevens needed the most discipline – but ultimately he was a mean sadist who took delight in humiliating and whipping little boys. He was holding his strap, and I knew that I was in for it.
Mr Handley's strap is special. He made it himself. It was thick, but fairly short, with a wooden handle. He must have spent hours sewing the leather together, then drilling holes into it. He had also made sure that it was rough, to increase the agony of the boys that he took delight in thrashing with it.
"You made me look like a fool, you little rat," were the first words that he said as I entered the room. He must have seen the tears streaming down my face, but my distress meant nothing to him, "going off smoking when I'm supposed to be supervising you,"
It was then that I noticed that not all the boys in the dorm were sitting up in their beds. Jeremy was bent over the end of his, his rounded bottom sticking up, pushed up by his pillow, legs hanging down. His stripes stood out clearly, and his face was buried in his blankets. Jeremy's arms were pulled out to his sides by two other boys who had obviously been recruited by Mr Handley to hold him.
"Bend over your bed like Jeremy, and don't forget to put pillows under you to get your backside up nicely!"
"Oh sir," I sobbed, "please not another hiding. I've had such a caning already,"
"Good, and I hope your ass is nice and tender for my strap!" was all the sympathy that I got.
Knowing that it would be pointless to argue further, I slowly retrieved my pillow, placed it on the end of my bed and bent over it. Knowing Mr Handley's procedure, I spread my arms and legs wide. Being naked for a strapping in the dorm was nothing new. The man always made us boys undress before bending over our beds for hidings. Just another way of humiliating us and making us suffer at his hands.
"You two," he must have pointed at two of my mates, but I couldn't see as my face was pressed into the bed, "hold his arms.
"Sorry Davey", came a mumble from my left.
"Try to take it, Dave," from my right as two of my friends grabbed my arms.
I heard the two loud cracks as sir started on Jeremy. My best friends howls showed me how much the leather must have hurt his bruised bottom. We usually tried to last as long as possible in silence for strappings, but that kind of bravery was over now for the two of us tonight. Then I felt the rough leather being drawn across my own tenderized behind.
"Well, the headmaster did a good job on you!"
Then the first fell, wrapping across my stripped backside. A short break, and then another. Like Jeremy, I wailed. Mr Handley, like the headmaster, believed in giving us our hidings on the lower part of our bottoms, and the dorm master must have been making a special effort to lash his strap down right over the stripes from the cane. It was agony, and I was glad that my two friends were holding me down. I would have hated giving sir the satisfaction of me jumping up after only two strokes.
The man went back to Jeremy, and it wasn't long before I heard the strap making contact with my friend's bottom again. This time sir laid on four heavy strokes, and Jeremy was sobbing and begging him to stop. But the boy's pleas fell on deaf ears. My turn came next, and the agony of the rough leather snapping across my bruised, bare bottom was indescribable.
Mr Handley once again crossed to Jeremy, and this time he laid on six lashes. But he really took his time. I think he must have been enjoying himself immensely, and wanted to draw out the beating as much as possible. When my turn for the strap came around once again, I couldn't help myself. I wailed and struggled against the boys who were holding me down. I had half hoped that my bottom would have perhaps been numb, but, amazingly, even although the strap landed on pretty much the same area all the time, the pain actually kept getting worse.
Finally, the punishment was over. Sir left us lying there in our misery, and, after ordering everyone to bed, he left the room. Slowly, I got up, replaced the pillow and climbed into my bed, aware that Jeremy was doing the same thing. I was careful to lie on my stomach!